


From Beyond the Grave

by Asynca



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speed prompt, written in 71 minutes. Tumblr prompt from Mysral: "Mercy helping a recently-rezzed Pharah deal with her "first time"."</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Beyond the Grave

 

* * *

I nearly had that Talon scum: it was _perfect_. I'd landed on a ledge just behind her and was waiting for her take that one inevitable step backwards onto it when someone fired at her from below.

_Just a little more_ , I thought, my rocket launcher aimed straight at Widowmaker's ledge. _Come just a little closer, Spider, and I'm going to blow you and your Talon monsters to—_

Something cold and metallic pressed against the skin on my neck. "Now _this_ is familiar."

That voice… it sent _chills_ down my spine. I knew Reaper's voice was the last thing my mother ever heard.

"It's not often I get to eliminate _two_ generations of Overwatch agents." His breath was as cold as the gun on my neck, and he _stank_ like a rotting corpse. Because I was breathing deeply, I took a lungful of it and nearly dry-wretched.

My heart was pounding. I knew he didn't mess around, and I had a 21-second cooldown left on my jets. If I could just keep him talking…

I searched _desperately_ for a conversation starter. "I'm not an Overwatch agent," I hissed, hoping it was enough, "and thanks to you and your _disgusting_ ilk, I'll never be. Your inflated ego _destroyed_ Overwatch and everything it stood for." I knew it it wasn't what had happened, and I suspected he'd want to correct me.

But apparently, I was wrong. He chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, and then cocked his gun with a pronounced click.

"All this _foreplay_ ," a heavily accented voice said from the ledge below, "are you actually going to shoot, or do _I_ need to do it?" When I stole a glance down at her, her rifle was aimed at me, too. She was peering at me through the sight, ready to fire.

13 seconds left.

"And _I'll_ take it as a compliment that you think it takes _two_ Talon assassins to kill me," I told them. "What a pity neither of you will!"

Both of them laughed, and neither of them seemed interested in talking.

8 seconds left.

7 seconds left.

And—oh, no, oh _god_ no!—I couldn't think of anything else to say to try and get them talking...! All I could hear was my pulse in my ears and the very distant shouts of my teammates somewhere else...

5 seconds left.

That was then it occurred to me: I might not escape from this. This might be it—this _couldn't_ be it?— _Allahu akbar, my teammates will show up and distract them for four seconds so I can—_

"Tell your mother I sent you," was the last thing I heard before the _CRACK_ of his sawn-off shotgun fired downwards into my chest and strained my eardrums and—

— _suddenly_ my lungs were on fire like something had _exploded_ inside it and I _couldn't breathe_ —I was breathing, but I kept _inhaling and inhaling_ but nothing was happening and I didn't feel like I was getting any air—and then there was something in my throat and I _coughed_ and blood splattered out of my mouth—

—there was so much blood trickling out from between the joins of my armour. I tried to pick my armour off so I could press my hands against the wound and stop it from—

—and then I was on my knees, my launcher tumbling onto the ground far below me and blood splashing from my chest onto the tiles in front of me—my blood—and—

—I couldn't see anymore, my ears were ringing and as I tried to stand, my muscles shook underneath me and I was dimly aware of laughter, deep, sinister laughter as I felt cool tiles and the warm blood on them fall against my cheek.

_I'm dying_ , I realised suddenly, clutching weakly at my chest as if I could stop all my blood from pouring out of me. Nothing stopped it. I could feel in pumping out of me onto the tiles around me, and I couldn't _get_ to the holes to stop it and—

_This can't be how I die…_ _it_ can't _be… I can't… I…._

Everything fell quiet.

Peaceful, even.

It was a warm summer day, and I was sitting on my mother's knee—a tiny child again—and she was showing me her rifle as she cleaned it, explaining all the different parts. I watched with interest; her rifle was so pretty and it gleamed in the midday sunlight. "One day you'll use one of these, my little Fareeha," she was saying, "and I just know you'll be _incredible_!"

Then, she _smiled_ at me. That smile meant _everything_ to me. My whole world was in that smile: I could feel her pride, her love, everything I'd always wished for, I finally had it. She was my mother and she loved me with all her heart, and I was going to make me _so proud_ of me.

Thinking about how proud she was going to be of me when I grew up, I closed my eyes and exhaled one last time.

My struggle was finally—

" _HEROES NEVER DIE_!"

—and then I was _struggling_ again, like I was rocketing upwards to the surface of the ocean after being drowned in its depths.

When I surfaced, I heard my own gasping breath as I took a huge gulp of air, and again, and again, and _this_ time, it held, I felt like the air was doing something instead of just escaping from all the holes in my chest. As I panted, clutching uselessly at my chest—my fingers just scraped against my thick armour—I realised I'd been rolled onto my back and propped up slightly.

I didn't believe it at first. CPR wouldn't help a gushing chest would, how could I still be—? What was—?

"It's alright, Fareeha," a voice said, using my real name.

_Mercy_...?

When I opened my eyes, her face and wings were framed by the midday sun. There was a gentle smile on her face, too. "It's alright," she said gently, taking my hands in hers for a moment so I couldn't keep clutching at my chest. "You're alright now."

I wrenched my hands free; there was still blood on them. But I was awake—I was alive—how—? "I don't—?" _Oh, no, I'd just been—_ I struggled break free from her and sit up. "Widowmaker and Reaper are here!" I told her. "If you're not careful, they'll—!"

"They're gone, and I've just resurrected you," she told me in a soothing voice, putting a hand on my chest and pushing me back down so my head rested on her knees. "Rest for a moment. Just until you get your bearings. It's confusing, I know."

There was nothing else to do except follow her instructions; I didn't want to hurt her by throwing her off and trying to stand.

As my vision cleared and I began to be able to think clearly again, I was able to reflect on what happened: Reaper flanked me and unceremoniously killed me. Just like he had my mother. I'd never gotten a chance to make her proud of me; he _took_ that from me.

My resolve hardened: _I was going to_ murder _him_. For _both_ of us.

"Oh, dear, that's a rather sour expression," Mercy told me, her musical laugh distracting me from swearing my vengeance. "I gather you remember what happened now?"

"I do. Every horrible second of it," I said dryly, back looking up at her.

"Well, that's a good sign, at least," she told me. "Shall we get back to work, then?"

That smile of hers was so beautiful; it was hard to decide if I preferred the smile I was dying to or the one that brought me back. "Just like that?"

She chuckled. "Just like that," she confirmed, helping me up. "Modern medicine!"

I let her, and then looked down at the tiles on the ledge; they were soaked with my blood and painted from my struggle in it. I couldn't believe I had any left in me; I didn't understand at all. I suppose it didn't matter, though, did it? I was clearly alive, and I felt… surprisingly _good_? Or, actually, _better_ than good—I felt energised and ready for action like I'd just had a long night's sleep instead of what had _actually_ happened.

It was _so_ bizarre.

A gruff voice called from below, "If you two are quite finished, maybe we could _get back to work_?" When I looked over the ledge, Soldier 76 was holding my launcher.

Mercy took my arm, wings extended. "Shall we?" That smile again…

It was surreal. Nodding, I checked my sensors—green across the board—and then stepped into the air with Mercy beside me.


End file.
